


All I need is the air that I breathe (and to love you) ILLUSTRATED by Yvesriba

by GayDemonicDisaster (scrapheapchallenge)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Has a Vulva (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), BAMF Aziraphale (Good Omens), Blood, Caring Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley is a Sweetheart (Good Omens), F/M, Graphic Descriptions of Injuries, He/Him Pronouns For Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hurt Crowley (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, I'm serious about the blood and surgical stuff, M/M, Other, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Sex, Soft Aziraphale (Good Omens), Soft Crowley (Good Omens), Worried Aziraphale (Good Omens), primitive surgical procedure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:00:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24917971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrapheapchallenge/pseuds/GayDemonicDisaster
Summary: Wessex, 1020AD. Some years after meeting the Black Knight, a certain angel finds a certain injured demon and nurses him back to health. Over the weeks, closeness prompts an opening up that sparks something more, and perhaps some kind of Arrangement might not be that bad of an idea after all…? Featuring BAMF Aziraphale. Hurt, comfort & love.CW for BLOOD, injuries, primitive medical procedures.UPDATE: Illustrated byYvesriba
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 81
Kudos: 263
Collections: The Good Omens Collection





	All I need is the air that I breathe (and to love you) ILLUSTRATED by Yvesriba

**Author's Note:**

> "All I need is the air that I breathe" by The Hollies:
> 
> “Making love with you  
> Has left me peaceful, warm, and tired  
> What more could I ask?  
> There's nothing left to be desired  
> Peace came upon me, and it leaves me weak  
> So sleep, silent angel, go to sleep
> 
> Sometimes all I need is the air that I breathe  
> And to love you  
> All I need is the air that I breathe  
> Yes, to love you  
> All I need is the air that I breathe”

“Crowley, you’re hurt.”

Crowley cranked one eye open and regarded the angel blearily. 

“Yeah?”

“Well for goodness sakes, Crowley, let me help you out of this armour.”

“Eh, fuck that, lemme just lie here. Tired.”

“No, Crowley, you’ll get discorporated unless you let me help. Come on.”

“Eeeuuuuggghhh. _Angellll_.” Crowley whined. Aziraphale was unmoved, and began to unbuckle the plate armour with practised ease. A light drizzle was beginning to fall, so he snapped and miracled up a spacious canvas bell tent over the pair of them. Crowley found himself on rough sacking on the floor instead of cold wet grass. 

“Where’s your horse?” Aziraphale was asking as he continued gently removing the armour piece by piece, setting each piece aside carefully. 

“Dunno, it fucked off somewhere. Been training that ungrateful bugger for _ages_ too, just got her to stop bucking me off, then sod’s law, I _fall_ off and she _fucks_ off. Bitch.”

“This one is going to hurt, I’m afraid,” Aziraphale warned him, coming to the breastplate which was pierced by a bodkin point arrow which was effectively nailing the armour to Crowley’s thin chest. His breathing was pained and bubbly. The angel suspected a collapsed lung. He hoped the arrow really was just a bodkin point in there and not barbed, so hopefully it’d slide out fairly easily. He extracted a leather strap from another piece of the armour and reached up to Crowley’s face. “Open your mouth,” came the curt instruction. Crowley complied and found a loop of leather shoved between his teeth. He bit down without needing to be told why. 

Aziraphale gripped the shaft of the arrow and pulled straight up in one strong yank. Crowley screamed and blacked out.

* * *

When he came to again, he was stripped naked and being hefted to be laid out on a camp bed. Aziraphale had a pan of water boiling over a small log fire with some knives and tools being cleansed in the water. He miracled up a jug of vinegar and some pieces of cloth and set them aside ready. 

“The pain isn’t done yet, I’m afraid, Crowley, I need to get the air out from around your collapsed lung, which means making an incision and inserting a short copper tube. I’m just cleansing the tools in some boiling water first, which will reduce the risk of infection, something I really wish that more humans would cotton on to. In the meantime I’m going to clean you up a bit, find your other injuries.”

Crowley grunted and watched in exhaustion and pain as Aziraphale began to swab him down with a cloth dipped in hot water and horse chestnut leaf infusion, which mixed up into a cleansing lather. Mud and blood ran in streams from his body, soaking into the cloth flung over the makeshift bed. Crowley closed his eyes, losing track of time. He dimly heard the angel removing the pot from the fire and metallic clinks as he made his tools ready. Crowley groped blindly for the discarded leather strap and placed it back in his own mouth ready for what was coming next. 

Aziraphale’s strong hands were on him again, Crowley tried not to tense up, he’d seen this done, and knew what was going to happen. He grunted as he felt something sharp stabbing into his side, sliding between his ribs, then moaned out loudly at the increasing pain, hands fisted, as the angel seemed to be taking forever to get it done. He was glad he couldn’t see. It felt like the bastard was trying to crack his ribs apart, then all of a sudden there was a whistle of air from next to him, the angel’s pale jerkin was splattered with a fine mist of blood, and Crowley felt his lung begin to re-inflate slowly. 

Aziraphale continued fiddling with the tube at his side a while longer, then washed the blood from his hands and picked up a needle from the pan. “Well that’s the worst bit dealt with, but you’re still not out of the woods yet, Crowley, you have several incisions and lacerations that require cleansing and stitching, but fortunately I can’t find any obviously broken bones. Plenty of nasty contusions though.” 

Crowley nodded grimly, teeth still gritted around the leather in his mouth, but the stitching wasn’t anywhere near as painful as the chest drain had been. He drifted in and out of consciousness while the angel worked. He knew he couldn’t use much in the way of miracles, especially directly on Crowley, as heaven would pick up on those and come looking, he was pretty sure the only miracle he’d used so far was the tent and vinegar, which was innocuous enough. Crowley wasn’t feeling up to doing much of his own either. He passed out under the angel’s gentle but skilled ministrations.

* * *

Crowley woke up, everything hurt. It was light, was it still light, or had night been and gone and made it light again? He had no idea. His throat was parched, he couldn’t even speak. He lolled his head sideways on the bundle of clothing that passed for a pillow and saw Aziraphale sitting next to the camp bed, mashing something into a green paste with a makeshift pestle and mortar made from a large flat stone and a smaller smooth river stone. He glanced up at the movement. 

“Oh, Crowley, you’re awake, let me get you something to drink, hold on a moment…” He reached behind him to a leathern water bottle and lifted it to the demon’s lips, allowing a small amount to trickle out to wet his lips first, then repeated small sips until Crowley felt it was enough. 

“Thanks, Aziraphale,” he muttered. 

“I’m going to change the dressing on your leg wound, it needs cleaning again and I have a poultice now to apply to help, it will sting a bit.” Aziraphale began to wipe the green paste onto a clean muslin cloth, then folded back the sheet over the demon’s leg and began to wash the stitched area with more horse chestnut soaped water and a cloth. He patted it dry then applied the plaster of poultice and began to bind it to the wound with a strip of bandage he’d cut from Crowley’s own torn clothing, which at least he’d boiled first. 

“There, that should numb it somewhat as well as help prevent infection. How’s your breathing feeling?”

“Bloody sore, like the rest of me.”

“Well at least you weren’t discorporated.”

“Yet.”

“Not if I have anything to do with it, Crowley. Anyhow, I have some nettle soup that should help perk you up a little.”

“I’ll pass.”

“No, you will not.” Aziraphale responded firmly, adding just a touch of compelling angelic harmonics to the next order. **“Drink.”** He held a spoon up to the demon’s lips and Crowley wrinkled his nose at him in grumpy acceptance. 

“That tastes foul, Angel. What the devil did you put in it?”

“Well there’s several other things in it to help as well, willowbark, comfrey, ramson root, and several other herbs to help you heal up.” He carried on spoon feeding the demon until he’d finished the small bowl, then wrapped him in another blanket and went to wash up. 

“I need to go and fetch some more water, water my horse and move her tether, I shall be back as quickly as I can, will you be alright?” 

Crowley shrugged and nodded. He was feeling tired again and began to doze even before Aziraphale had left the tent.

* * *

A little while later Crowley roused again, and smelt something roasting. He tipped his head to the side again and saw the angel turning a pair of spitted rabbits over the fire, stuffed with lemon mint and wild garlic. The flap of the tent was open and he glimpsed Aziraphale’s grey mare tethered outside grazing peacefully. He was still annoyed at having lost his own horse. Finding one that put up with a demon on their back was difficult enough, plus it had been expensive. 

He was uncomfortable but couldn’t roll on his side thanks to the drain in his chest. He groaned weakly. Aziraphale’s head shot up and he turned around. “Oh, Crowley, thank goodness you’re awake. Sorry I didn’t have any of this earlier, but I found some now, much better than the willowbark, although I’ve added some of that as well, here…” He passed a wooden cup with a small measure of liquid into Crowley, who wrinkled his nose at the smell, then gulped it down and pulled a face again at the bitter taste. 

“That was fucking _awful_ , Angel.”

“Yes, but it’s far more effective at treating pain, I found it on the other side of the river earlier, but it took a while to extract it. There wasn’t much but it should help. You’re to have some of this rabbit as well when it’s done.”

“We don’t need to eat, Aziraphale.”

“Not necessarily, but it does help your corporation speed up the healing process somewhat if you treat it slightly more like a human might. Every little helps. I have a book, would you like me to read to you while we wait?”

“What is it?”

“Poetry.”

“Eugh, fine, whatever.”

“Well don’t sound _too_ enthusiastic, will you?” Aziraphale pouted, irritated at how ungrateful the demon was sounding. 

“Sorry, Angel, I’m just in shit tons of pain, I didn’t mean to snipe at you, I’m sorry. I am grateful for what you’re doing. Really I am. Just hard to be cheerful when you feel like you’ve gone ten rounds with Satan himself.”

“Who set upon you, anyway?”

“Don’t remember, doesn’t matter much anyway. Some bastard shot me, I came off my horse, I was already cut up from the battle earlier, no idea why they didn’t stick around to rob me too.”

“Probably because they heard me coming.” Aziraphale commented, turning the rabbits and nudging a pot of boiling roots further from the fire to slow down their cooking rate. He then picked up the book and began to read. Crowley relaxed back on the bed and let the words flow over him. 

Aziraphale was cutting up the rabbits when they heard something outside, and a pair of distinctly unfriendly faces appeared at the tent flap. 

“What’s that scum you’re hiding in there?” One demanded, eyeing Crowley’s colours in a pile on the ground next to his distinctive black armour. Aziraphale shot to his feet and placed himself between Crowley and the interlopers. 

“A knight injured in battle, he is under my protection.”

“He’s the enemy.”

“He’s my prisoner, and entitled to due care and attention.”

“He needs to be hung, drawn and quartered.”

Aziraphale glowered, and bent to pick up his own sword. Although unarmoured, he nonetheless strode out of the tent, head high and fearless. “Over my dead body,” he growled at the pair of men, both armed, but fortunately also not armoured save for thick leather jerkins. Crowley had never felt more useless in his existence. He couldn’t even sit up to grab his own sword, but quickly realised he didn’t need to. He felt a spike in divinity rising and the angel fairly crackled with ethereal power. 

“I usually tell people to be not afraid, but on this occasion, I rescind my usual cautionary words and order you both to begone from this place lest you feel my wrath.” His voice was powerful but steady. The humans looked at him in confusion, but still with aggression in their stance. Each raised their swords, and Aziraphale widened his stance. 

He allowed his angelic aspect to glow bright, wings erupted from his back, thousands of eyes manifested around his corporation and he lifted his sword high to smite. Lightning crackled, arced from the sword and struck each attacker, laying them both out unconscious, burned with lichtenberg patterns that had crawled across their skin in the blink of an eye, leaving each permanently scarred with a reminder. Neither had been touched by the sword, only by the wrath of God channelled through a Principality of the Lord. 

Aziraphale sighed and allowed his aspect to dim again. His ethereal eyes winked out of existence and he folded his wings away and back into the aether. He cast his sword aside then bent to lift the pair of unconscious humans, one over each arm. “I’ll be back in a while, Crowley,” he said, then walked off.

* * *

Some time later, he was back, and sat down to continue carving up the rabbits as if nothing had happened. Crowley looked on incredulously. 

“What did you do with them?”

“Oh, I left them by the roadside a fair distance from here. They’ll be alright save the holy scarring, and rather better behaved from now on. Both are apt to make their way to the nearest monastery as soon as they wake and take up a life devoted to the cloth.” He placed some meat and boiled roots and leaves on a wooden trencher and passed it to Crowley with an eating knife. The demon took it gratefully, not willing to argue on the ‘not eating’ point, and tucking in to please the angel. 

“It looked very impressive,” he commented around his mouthful. Aziraphale blushed and chewed on his own, swallowing before replying. 

“I prefer smiting with holy wrath to actually killing them, just a gentle smiting that gives them a short sharp shock, rather than the full power. I’m not sure I could actually kill anyone. I tend to try to just take them out of the running and make them be better people in future.”

Aziraphale took a drink and continued. “Once you feel well enough to be moved, I’d rather take you to a cottage I have a few miles from here, I can look after you better there. I’m going to take that chest drain out later this evening, but I want you to have a few doses of the pain killing tincture first. I’m sorry I didn’t have it handy when I had to do the actual insertion, but time was somewhat of the essence.”

“‘S ok, Aziraphale, you did what you had to do, it‘s fine, don’t stress over it.” Crowley slowly finished the admittedly very tasty dinner and passed the trencher back. The angel passed a cup with rather more of the bitter concoction in it and he knocked it back with a grimace. “Got any wine to chase that down with?”

“I’m afraid not, river water is all I have, not even any small beer. Not until we get to the cottage anyway. But I’m not moving you with that chest drain in, Crowley. I’ll leave it half an hour then we can get that over and done with.”

The removal wasn’t anywhere near as bad as the insertion. Aziraphale bound up the wound and checked on the others, dribbling some squeezed ramson juice on one he thought was looking a little infected, then re-binding it with a fresh strip of cloth. While Crowley rested, he set about dismantling the tent around them so he could use two of the long poles to create a travois for his horse so that he could lay Crowley on it to carry him to the cottage, then reluctantly woke Crowley to move him carefully onto it. 

The demon cried out in pain as Aziraphale gently lifted him then laid him down on the makeshift platform behind the grey mare. Moving under cover of darkness was probably for the best. He discarded Crowley’s colours to avoid trouble, saving only his armour which he placed in a burlap sack and laid over the horse’s back, carrying most of the rest of the kit himself, then set off.

* * *

Every bump on the path jolted fresh expletives from the demon, but he took solace in knowing it’d have been ten times worse without the pain killing draught the angel had mixed up for him. After what felt like hours they arrived at a simple stone built bothy with rough thatched roof riddled with vegetation. Aziraphale lifted Crowley again and laid him indoors on a proper pallet bed, then set about lighting candles and a fire, rubbing down his horse and setting her to graze, then checking over Crowley again. 

“Angel, you look exhausted. You need sleep too.”

“Nonsense, Angels don’t need sleep.”

“You told me even if demons don’t need food it helps the body anyway, well I’m going to tell you the same about angels and sleep. Get some rest damn you.”

“You’re in the bed Crowley, I’ll be fine.”

“I can share, come here.” Crowley shuffled over painfully, but grateful at least to be able to roll on his side at last. “Besides, I need the warmth, get over here, Aziraphale.”

The angel sighed and relented. “Fine, let me wash first, I feel filthy after so many days on the road, then I’ll join you.” He heated some water over the fire then bathed with a cloth from the bowl, donned a simple night shirt and laid down next to Crowley, grateful for the respite regardless of what he’d said. Crowley relaxed at the closeness of the angel and smiled for the first time in days. 

“Thanks. Get some sleep Aziraphale. I’ll be fine.”

Aziraphale drifted off, glad the demon was finally out of the woods, both metaphorically and literally. 

Crowley breathed in Aziraphale’s scent, feeling lightheaded. The proximity to something so beautifully holy he was sure would have felt bad to most normal demons, but Crowley was no normal demon, and instead his entire corporation felt warmed and glowing at the celestial love brimming over from the angel’s body. He could swear he felt his injuries healing just a tad faster. 

Aziraphale was good for him, always had been. He resisted the urge to reach out and touch, or wrap an arm around the angel’s chest and snuggle close to him. He merely watched in the darkness with his superior night vision, admiring every curve of the beautiful creature laid out next to him on the narrow bed. Eventually he fell asleep as well.

* * *

Crowley woke when Aziraphale did with the dawn, with a pang of regret as the angel rose, stretched and set about fetching ingredients to put together some bannock-bread by the rekindled fire. He fished out some dried pease and set them to soak in a pot for later, then stepped out of the tiny two room cottage into a small garden area outside fenced off with pales and blackberry thorns from invading rabbits. 

There, he cut a bunch of mint for tea. Coming back inside, he climbed on a chair to reach up to a woven basket hanging in the rafters and picked out two apples, then fussed about preparing a plate for Crowley. 

When he brought it to the bed, where the demon was watching him quietly in a sleepy haze, he laid out some hot mint tea, sliced apple, and some fresh baked bannock-bread spread with dripping scraped from an earthenware pot. He helped Crowley sit up to eat and sat with him, breaking his own fast at the same time in companionable silence. 

“You called me your prisoner.” Crowley commented after a while. He’d been dwelling on that phrase.

“They’d have killed you otherwise.”

“They wanted to kill me _anyway_ , Angel.”

“Yes, well. You’re not my prisoner, Crowley, you’re my guest, and my patient. I should also hope that you’re also still my friend.”

“Of course I am you daft bugger. Bread’s delicious by the way.”

“Thank you. There shall be pease pudding later, I’ve a flitch of bacon hanging in the meat larder, I’ll cut some off to add to it, I even have a little pepper and another couple of fine spices set aside.” Aziraphale was rather proud of that.

“Thank you,” Crowley murmured after a little while. “Y’know, for everything.”

“Don’t mention it, dear.” Aziraphale stood and collected the breakfast items to tidy away, taking them outside to scrub clean with some sand in a tub by the water butt which filled off the small slate roof of a lean-to on the side of the bothy. 

The days passed in long, quiet hours. Aziraphale checked on Crowley’s wounds, wrote in scrolls, read from them or the occasional book he had collected and treasured. He’d leave to go fishing or foraging now and then, and insisted on cooking to share with Crowley, who came to appreciate the love that went into it, even if the fare was plain, it was wholesome and did seem to be helping his corporation heal up. 

Aziraphale soon had Crowley on his feet and walking around, stretching sore muscles and making sure that the newly developing scar tissue didn’t tighten up too much once the skin had knitted together. At night, he’d concede to lie next to Crowley in the small bed while the demon used the excuse of needing warmth to roll against him, carefully not reaching out, but enjoying the illicit contact nonetheless. The weeks slid by.

* * *

As they lay there, side by side one night, Crowley broke the silence. 

“D’you think your lot might be apt to drop in on you at any point to check up?”

“No, I’ve been left to my own devices down here for quite some time now, you’re safe, Crowley, don’t worry.”

“Don’t want to overstay my welcome, or put you in danger, Aziraphale.”

“You are always welcome in my home, Crowley.”

“But I put you in danger.”

Aziraphale didn’t reply.

“We both know I should be getting on soon. The longer I stay here, the more likely we get caught.”

“You’re worth the risk.” Aziraphale whispered, only just on the edge of hearing. He didn’t look at Crowley. 

“I…” Crowley gaped. “I’m what?”

Aziraphale turned to look at him in the room lit only by the low flickering embers of the banked fire. “You’re worth it, Crowley. Time spent with you is never wasted. I see you so seldom, and each time we must part ways it hurts a little inside, I’ve never confessed as such to you before, but I’m doing so now. Human companionship is so fleeting, they come and go in the blink of an eye, but you, Crowley…” He paused to swallow nervously. 

“... You are the one constant in my life that I can rely on, Crowley. You’re the only one who knows what it’s like to be what we are. We can meet up a hundred years apart and pick up as if we only saw each other the day before. You don’t judge me, you don’t tell me what to do like they do up there, you accept me for who I am, every moment with you is a joy. And one fear I have is that should you get discorporated, they may decide not to grant you a new body but keep you down there… away from me.”

He looked away into the coals of the fire.

“... and I’ll be alone.”

Crowley gazed at him, rapt, and saw the telltale glimmer of tears just welling up in the corner of his eyes, threatening to overspill down his pale cheeks. 

“Oh Angel…” he breathed, and finally reached out to envelop Aziraphale in his arms, holding him tight, burying his nose in that downy soft pale hair and rocking the angel gently. Aziraphale sobbed at last, letting his tears flow, soaking the chest of Crowley’s chemise. “Shush now, Angel, don’t cry, I’m here…”

“You must think me an awful fool, Crowley,” Aziraphale sobbed, embarrassed. 

“No, no Aziraphale, no. Never. You’re far braver than I’ll ever be.” He pulled back a little to look the angel in the eyes. “Fr’instance, I’d never have had the guts to say what you just did, even though I feel the same.” He grinned a lopsided grin and saw Aziraphale’s tear streaked face break into a smile as well. “Can I kiss you, Angel?” He whispered, quietly. Aziraphale met his gaze, suddenly still, and nodded. 

Crowley brought their lips together gently, heart hammering. The angel’s lips were so soft, pliant and welcoming. He slipped his tongue between them and rolled on top of Aziraphale, moaning gently. He was glad he was pretty much healed up by now, because there were things he wanted to do with the angel that absolutely wouldn’t have been possible a couple of weeks ago. 

He ground his hips against Aziraphale’s, cock filling and hardening, before he noticed something different. He felt down between them and his questing fingers found that the angel was sporting a vulva at the moment. He smiled wickedly and kissed at Aziraphale’s neck while gathering his nightshirt up gradually with one fist. “Is this all for me, Angel?”

“Oh, that, yes of course, Crowley. I find it rather safer to have less vulnerable genitalia when in battle and others are apt to fight dirty and aim for weak spots. I can change if you like?”

“Oh no, don’t you dare, Angel. I’m going to enjoy this, I want to enjoy everything you have to offer, and I want you to enjoy it too.” He sat up on his knees, cast off his own long chemise, then helped Aziraphale wriggle out of his nightshirt, gazing down at the luscious curves of the angel in awe. “Oh fuck, you’re so beautiful,” he breathed, and fell forward to worship Aziraphale’s body with kisses, feeling the firmness of muscle earned through years of fighting training just underneath. He couldn’t get enough, he wanted to taste every part of him. His hands roved all over, caressing soft skin and settling Aziraphale’s nerves at the same time. 

Crowley skimmed his hands down muscular thighs and encouraged them apart with a gentle nudge. “May I kiss you here, my Angel?” he whispered, settling himself down between Aziraphale’s legs, stroking his hip idly as he looked up to meet those clear blue eyes. 

“Oh Crowley, yes, yes please.”

Crowley bent to his task, kissing up the angel’s soft thighs, occasionally licking and nipping just to smile as his actions elicited delighted yelps and squirms, then sucked a dark love bite into the skin on his inner thigh, a beautiful secret mark claiming the angel as his own to love, that could easily be explained away as a simple bruise from an injury if needed. He licked at the angel’s soft pink folds, slow and tender, teasing with measured and practised movements and innate skill. Aziraphale began to whimper above him and he smiled then carried on. 

The angel tasted divine, he licked deeper, steady and persistent, finding the areas which made his lover writhe with pleasure and caused his thighs to quiver with need. He nibbled gently, sucked and pushed forward with his tongue, as the whimpers became soft cries, and those angelic hands began to claw desperately at the blankets on the bed. 

Crowley brought his long, talented fingers into play, pressing in gently and beckoning more sweet cries from his angel’s lips, then plunging in deeper, harder, twirling and driving Aziraphale into a frenzy of spasmodic muscle twitches and jerking hips, becoming more and more breathless, until his body stilled suddenly, arching up, every muscle tense, then his hips bucked uncontrollably a couple of times. He tightened around Crowley’s fingers and came hard in a flood of wetness, which the demon proceeded to lap up greedily as the angel came down, still quivering and gasping. 

Crowley slid his fingers out and licked them slowly, watching the angel intently as he came back to his senses. He slithered up Aziraphale’s body again and kissed him deeply, grinding his hips against Aziraphale’s again, cock hard and leaking already, desperate. “May I?” he whispered, kissing the angel’s neck by his ear, then nibbling at his earlobe. 

“Please.. Please do, Crowley…” Aziraphale was still breathless. He spread his legs wider, encouraging the demon closer, and hooked a leg around his back. “Take me, Crowley.”

“You’re not a _thing_ to _take_ , Aziraphale. But I will _give_ myself to you.”

Crowley slid in gently, kissing the angel deeply as he did, their bodies moving together seamlessly, touches hot and fevered, everything too much and yet not enough. They had to seize the moment, as both knew they would have to part ways soon, lest their string of good fortune run out. Aziraphale clung to Crowley’s body tight as if afraid to lose him. 

“Crowley… you’re not hurting… are you?” He managed to gasp out. Crowley shook his head fiercely. 

“Never too much for you, Aziraphale. You healed me up anyway. Even so, any pain would be worth this.” He thrust in hard as if to punctuate his point, grinning at the angel’s ecstatic yelp, then buried his nose in the soft flesh by his neck to kiss and nibble some more. Aziraphale tipped his head back, baring his throat for more, and locked his ankles behind the demon’s slim hips, pushing his own hips up to meet every thrust. 

Crowley adjusted his angle a little, endeavouring to grind his pelvis against Aziraphale’s clit. He was grunting with each push now, finding it hard to think of anything save for the pleasure coruscating through his body. The angel was lost in the same sensations, crying out Crowley’s name, feeling a fire in his soul raging higher and higher, fed by the waves of purest love he could feel cascading from the demon’s body, and pushing him into a mind melting orgasm. 

Crowley wasn’t far behind, his voice brokenly gasping out Aziraphale’s name as he came in shuddering bursts. He bent forth once more to kiss those soft lips, then rested his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder, still shaking and catching his breath. A pair of strong arms encouraged him to lower his weight down onto the angel, where he was held tight, soothing kisses layered onto his forehead as he lay there wrapped in Aziraphale’s love. 

They slept, wrapped up in each other’s arms, and woke again with the dawn. They’d made love again, slow and sweet, with a tender sadness that said they both knew that this would be the last time, at least for a while. They both knew Crowley would have to move on. They’d been too lucky for too long.

* * *

Aziraphale bundled up some supplies and wrapped Crowley’s armour up in a sack to conceal it, lending him a nondescript brown jerkin and hose so he could go incognito until he was out of the district again. He made his way to the gate.

“You can take my horse, if you’d like.” Aziraphale offered. Crowley regarded the grey mare skeptically. 

“Thanks, Angel, but best not. She’d only buck me off and come back to you anyway. I’ll take my chances and buy or steal another somewhere.” He hefted the sack on his back and looked back at the little stone cottage regretfully. 

“Crowley…?” The angel called out, from where he stood in the doorway, wringing his hands. Crowley turned at the little gate to listen. 

“Several decades ago, when we met last, before I found you hurt, you mentioned something. Regarding blessings and curses…”

“Yeah?” Crowlely replied, warily.

“Do you really suppose we could make it work?”

Crowley smiled. “Don’t know unless we try, Angel. I’m game if you are.”

“Maybe we could meet up, later I mean, to … compare notes?” There was hope in Aziraphale’s voice. 

“Yeah, could do.” Crowley mused with a smile. Aziraphale left the threshold and strode across the few yards between them quickly. He swept Crowley into his arms and kissed him fiercely. 

“I don’t regret it, Crowley, not one bit. I know it was risky, it always will be, but when we can, I… I want to do that again. Perhaps one day we won’t have to hide it.”

“One day,” Crowley agreed, breathlessly, stroking the angel’s cheek as they rested their foreheads against each other. “One day, Angel.” Their eyes met. “I love you.”

“I know, Crowley, I love you, and I always will. Stay safe, dearest demon.” He slipped his ring off his little finger. He’d had it for centuries, longer. Crowley was as familiar with it as the angel’s face. Aziraphale pressed it into the demon’s hands.

“Take this. A promise. For one day.”

Crowley stared at it in silent amazement. “I… I can’t, this is yours..”

“And I give it to you, Crowley, for all the times we can’t be together. I know you can’t very well wear it on show, but here…” He snapped up a small chain and looped the ring through it, then lifted it over Crowley’s head. “You can keep it close to your heart, even when I’m not with you.”

Crowley kissed the ring reverently, then tucked it into his chemise, feeling the reassuring shape of it next to his skin. He kissed Aziraphale long and sweet.

“I’ll be seeing you, Aziraphale. Thank you.” Then Crowley was turning, leaving. Aziraphale fought back tears as he watched him disappear into the swirling mists.

* * *

A few months had elapsed. Aziraphale hadn’t seen Crowley since the cottage. He’d travelled to Jorvik for a blessing, riding through the darkened streets after sundown when his horse froze under him, stopping dead and refusing to move. Her ears pinned back and she snorted, stomping a hoof uneasily. He peered around warily, and felt a familiar demonic aura tainting the air. His features broke into a smile, just as Crowley emerged from the darkness of an alley between two houses. 

“Aziraphale! I thought I smelled you nearby.” He smiled, but seemed watchful and on edge. “Can’t stay long, Hastur is around, you shouldn’t linger either, I heard they were sending an angel here too and took a guess.”

Aziraphale dismounted hurriedly, looked about quickly, then swept Crowley into his arms and kissed him passionately. He broke off, breathless. “I’ve missed you.”

“I missed you too, Angel, but it’s not safe for you here. Listen, while Hastur is in the area, it’s really not a good idea for you to hang about. Let me take this one, tell me who needs your attention, I’ll do it for you. Less dangerous for me to take it on. Worst case scenario, I get found, I pretend I was cursing instead of blessing, yeah?”

“Oh Crowley…”

“Shhh, I’ll do it. It’s ok. But Aziraphale?”

“Yes?"

“I have something for you.” Crowley fished in the pouch at his belt, and withdrew something small and golden. He passed it gently to Aziraphale, who lifted it up to the light of the moon. 

It was a small golden ring, a different design to the one he’d given Crowley. It had a heraldic design in the centre surmounted by a pair of angel wings. Holy flames flanked the shield, which bore a lion rampant. 

“I thought of doing a lion, ox and eagle for your aspect, but thought that might be a bit too obvious. Besides, lions are a safe bet given politics and whatnot. Gave you some wings, and some protective fire.”

“Oh Crowley, it’s beautiful. Thank you.” He drew the demon into another kiss, then Crowley took the ring and slid it onto the angel’s pinkie finger. 

“One day, Aziraphale.”

“One day, Crowley…”

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to EntropicalSunflowers for Beta reading this one for me, much appreciated!
> 
> Yes I went with 1020 AD as in the book that's when Aziraphale finally agrees to the Agreement. I suppose he'd been dwelling on it for a while.
> 
> I also wanted to use this fic to explain why Aziraphale's ring changes after the Arrangement is reached ;)
> 
> ALSO: I am very obviously not a doctor, so any errors in the surgical process are entirely mine.


End file.
